Unicorn
by Tithenmamiwen
Summary: What America didn't understand was that, even if his magical friends were only his imagination at work, they were the only ones who stood by him since the very beginning. Warning s : Angst, hurt/comfort, violence, bloodshed, allusions to sex and rape.


Summary: What America didn't understand was that, even if his magical friends _were_ only his imagination at work, they were the only ones who stood by him since the very beginning.

Warning(s): Angst, hurt/comfort, violence, bloodshed, allusions to sex and rape.

Speech Notes: _"Italicized"- speaking in Latin._

Rating(s): M

Disclaimer: Tithenmamiwen owns nothing pertaining to Hetalia and makes no profit.

**Unicorn**

"_I-I a-am…Britannia?"_

Albion stuttered out in Latin, as the Roman Empire paced in front of him. Albion frowned before muttering in his native language that 'Britannia' was not his real name.

A hard smack landed on the back of his head, and Albion looked up to find Rome scowling down at him.

"_When you speak, it will be in Latin. When you write, it will be in Latin. If you as much as think, it will be in Latin. Or, perhaps, you shall find yourself not speaking at all."_

Albion bit his bottom lip, teeth nearly tearing through the skin as he tried to refrain from raging against the older nation.

"_This Latin is too hard. It...It…_My tongue is not meant to form the words," Albion finally gasped in Brythonic.

Another hard smack landed on Albion's head as Rome grabbed his dagger. _"Well, perhaps you need a little persuasion."_

Motioning to two guards, they held Albion still as Rome wrenched open his mouth, pulled his tongue out as far as it could go, and then sliced it off. The flesh made a sick sound as it dropped to the floor, and Albion let out a wordless scream at the pain, dropping to his knees.

Rome scoffed and kicked Albion in the ribs. _"Don't be so dramatic, it will regrow eventually, and now, if you have any sense about this, you will accept and utilize my people's culture."_

Normally he would have just whipped the boy, but he was still pissed off at Boudica's latest attempts, and he needed to do something that would fit the lesson.

Frowning down at the kneeling nation, Rome scoffed one more time before gesturing for the guards to take him to be cleaned. Perhaps now little Albion would learn his lesson.

Later, that night, Albion sat alone in the cell he was taken to. He sniffled, tears trailing down his cheeks as he felt pain radiate from his mouth still. He knew enough, from watching slaves get punished, that he wouldn't be able to talk until his tongue was healed and fully reformed once more- the gift that comes from being a nation.

As he sat in a corner, he warily eyed the light that started to grow steadily. As the light grew so that his eyes almost hurt, he noticed a shape taking form and getting closer. Suddenly, the light died down as the form- now recognized as a unicorn- reached inside the cell and trotted to stand before the small nation.

Albion could only look in awe at the beautiful being, and slowly reached out to touch his flank. The unicorn snorted before settling itself beside Albion, offering him comfort where none could be found.

Still in the throes of awe, Albion quietly stroked down his back, pain momentarily forgotten, before hesitantly cuddling up to the solid warmth.

It would be his first time meeting the unicorn, and his first time gaining a friend.

When next Rome started teaching Albion to speak in Latin, after his tongue has healed, Albion dutifully learned and integrated the Roman culture.

_~x~_

Albion let out a cry as Scotland grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards a rock.

"So, ye thought ye could steal ma meat, aye? Ah'll show ye wot we do wid thieves."

Scotland pinned Albion's hand down to the rock with his own before grabbing his axe and hacking off the three middle fingers of his left hand at the base- oblivious to Albion's pleas of not knowing the food was his, and promises of not doing it again.

"Dam right ye won't take ma food again, little bastard, not if ye want ta lose da fingers of yer oder hand as well."

Scotland was pissed that Albion bowed under Roman pressure, forsaking his fierce ancestors for learning the Roman language and culture. Wales and Ireland wouldn't have buckled under; instead, they would have died before accepting Roman rule.

Feeling like Albion learned his lesson; Scotland released his hold on the little brat, and watched as his little brother scrambled as far away from his sight as possible.

Weeks later, Albion could be found running as fast as he could. Scotland and Ireland were bored, and had decided to gang up on their little brother.

There was a twang before Albion felt pain blossom along his shoulder-blade as an arrow pierced him, but continued running, frantically trying to get away. Another twang was sounded, and more pain blossomed as a second arrow hit his back, piercing his lungs. A third, and final, twang sounded, causing Albion to stumble down to the ground as the arrow struck along his spinal cord.

Eyes widened, Albion looked on with dread as his brothers came into view, joking and laughing as if it were a normal hunting party. Albion let out a slight whimper as Scotland crouched beside his head.

"Aw, lookit, our wee broder is scared," Scotland mocked to Ireland.

He turned back to gaze down on Albion, "Ye know, if ye didna run, we wouldna had ta shoot ye." It was a lie; they would have shot arrows at him regardless.

Scotland gazed down at the arrows before lightly flicking the arrow stuck in Albion's spine with his fingers, "Do ye know what this arrow hit?" Scotland showed genuine curiosity, as if he really did want to know the extent of his brother's knowledge.

Seeing Albion shake his head, Scotland slowly grinned and turned to Ireland. "We canna have our little broder unintelligent. Wot say we give him a lesson in anatomy?"

Ireland grinned back, "Aye, he needs to know what will stop a man from running in the face of danger."

Scotland stared down at Albion menacingly, "Aye, not running from an enemy is important."

Staring down at the small body, Scotland fingered the hilt of his dagger, "Ye know wot happens to ae slave if caught running?" Albion shook his head, too afraid to speak, and Scotland nodded to himself, "Dey make it so the slave canna run."

Scotland took out his dagger before slicing along the backs of Albion's thighs. "Wot Ah just cut was yer hamstrings. That's wot people cut on ae slave ta keep 'em from movin' properly. Lookit, ye learn somethin' new every day."

With that, Scotland laughed before pulling out the arrows, and standing up. "Come on, Ireland; let's leave Albion here to dwell on this."

Ireland stood up as well, and followed his brother, while calling over his shoulder, "See ye 'round, broder."

Albion lay there silently, not daring to breathe until he knew his brothers were gone. When he knew they were some distance away, Albion felt tears trying to escape his eyes, but he rubbed at his eyes, not wanting to cry.

"I've been through pain before," he stated to the unicorn that appeared once more, "it isn't anything new."

Sighing, he reached over to gently pet his friend, marveling over the softness, "I should be used to it, but…perhaps it's because it came from my brothers that makes it hurt more. But, I will heal. As always, I will heal."

As Albion said this, he looked at his left hand, all five fingers back now. The only thing marking that Scotland did such a thing as chopping them off are the ring-like circles scarring them.

_~x~_

Albion watched with watery eyes from his position on the ground as Denmark strutted away, feeling pleased with himself for overpowering his rival successfully.

He could still feel the warmth as he sank himself into that tight body, feeling the muscles close around his manhood- walls clinging to him and pulsating as if to try and stop him.

It was heaven, raping the body of a virgin- even if it _was_ that of a child- and he hoped to continue to rape more of Albion's people. It would serve the tiny personification right anyways, trying to survive in this world. There was no place for meek and weak personifications and, if the boy couldn't fight off the body of a bigger man, than it was his own fault for letting him rape him.

The cries of pain were music to his ears as he took him and emptied himself into that body three times. He almost thought of going back there for another round, but shrugged the thought away- it would be better to rape some of the young nation's people instead.

Albion watched, eyes watery but still refusing to let tears fall, until Denmark left his sight. He let his tears fall when his tormentor finally left, crying for his abused body and for losing a part of himself in that fashion.

He hurt all over, the muscles in his most intimate of places torn and shredded- for Denmark was not kind in stealing- and there was a funny colored liquid inside and all over the place where he made yellow water- for Denmark thought it humorous to make him release many times as if he enjoyed being raped.

The teeth and scratch marks were a reminder of his shame and humiliation, and he hoped he would be strong enough to prevent this from happening again.

As he laid there crying, his unicorn friend approached him and lay down beside him, comforting him as best as possible.

Feeling the warmth, Albion flung his small arms around the mythical creature's body and whimpered.

"It hurt," he cried, "it hurt so much, and I know it will continue to do so until I defeat the foreigner."

The unicorn just snorted and rested his head in the crook of Albion's shoulder, protecting the boy as he fell into a restless sleep.

Later, Albion would gain hope as he found his first king, the king who would force the Vikings out once and for all.

King Alfred.

_~x~_

England moaned in delirious fever as more puss oozed from the bulbous sores covering his body.

It was a dark time as the Plague swept across Europe, and- unlike his people who became victims of the deadly disease- no merciful death would come to the personification. For that is what being a nation was about, being burdened and scarred with the pains of his people as symbolism for his future people.

England _will_ survive this and more as nothing short of the extermination of every single one of his people- or his status as a nation being dissolved- would kill him.

But as of that moment, it wasn't the idea of a future without disease that England thought of nor was it the idea that, unlike his people, he would survive. The only thing that England could wish for- however horrible it might seem- was for death. That all of his people would die so that he might not suffer anymore.

He had had no knowledge of the passage of time, having been put into isolation in a set of rooms by himself where the windows were all boarded up, but he knew that it must have at least been weeks- going on months- since he last saw the sun. Months since he last had contact with another human being.

So, for all he knew, all his people could have died, and he really _was_ on the edge of death.

It must have been during one of his less delirious moments, when he squinted against a glow shining near his face- being so accustomed to the dark for so long.

It was soft and pale in color, and there was a small shuffling sound before England felt something warm and slick press against his hollowed cheek. The thing pressed only for a moment before coming back to press against his flesh again and again.

England made the effort to open his eyes enough to see his companion, and attempted to smile- though it came out as a grimace- at the unicorn gently licking his cheeks in an attempt to wash his face.

Trying to put some distance between him and the unicorn- for no pure being should be this close to death- England weakly pushed the unicorn's muzzle away. "Do not bother, Unicorn. The wounds will just reappear regardless."

The unicorn snorted but settled down, pressing its warm body against the struggling nation's side. While England drifted off into delirium once more, the unicorn kept a watchful eye.

_~x~_

England looked down from the window, eyes dulled as yet another group of Protestants were set aflame. It was a bloody massacre in the name of religion and, though he could not disobey the commands of his queen, that did not mean he had to be down there siding with her and her cohorts.

England barely winced as parts of his skin darkened and crusted over once more- as if he himself were thrown into the flames as well. His senses have dulled over time such that all he could feel right now was a sense of haziness. Even the throbbing of his heart as his people suffered had dulled.

Queen Mary was a truly vengeful person.

A familiar presence appeared by his side before the unicorn gave England his traditional greeting of rubbing a snout to his cheek.

Not turning away from the site of the bodies- screams cut off as the stench of roasting flesh filled the air- England gently patted the muzzle.

"The things done in the name of a God," England sighed. "It is written that their God is a terrible, vengeful God. Is it practice, then, that his followers be vengeful and bloodthirsty in his name?"

Glancing towards the creature, England gave him an apologetic smile. "I apologize, old friend. It's just that the more I see of humanity's cruelty, the less…the less…"

England frowned, "There is just so much bloodshed caused by humans, and we, as nations, feel it. Every death I feel, I lose a part of myself. Is it wrong of me to wonder what point there is in lingering amongst the living though my people still live?"

England turned back towards the window, idly watching as the crowd started leaving- the entertainment of the day over now.

As England watched where the bodies- now ashes- used to be, he thought and pondered. But, no matter how much time he spent there, the deceased were unable to provide him with answers.

Throughout the hours of contemplation, the unicorn did not leave his side.

_~x~_

The unicorn plodded across the wooden flooring and stood next to the winged-armchair. After a few moments had gone by without acknowledgment, the unicorn snorted and nuzzled England's shoulder.

A few more minutes passed without any change, before England slowly raised a hand to stroke along the unicorn's back. Having stroked the back once in acknowledgment, England let his hand fall limply to the armrest.

Staring dully into the fireplace, England wetted his bottom lip. "Is it really so impossible for me to find love and keep it? Or, for that matter, is it really so impossible for anyone to love me?"

England cracked a half-hearted grin, the thin hollowness that came from depression and not eating making his Glasgow smile more pronounced.

"I let him go, you know," England stated dully. "Even after everything, I couldn't kill America."

Nothing else was said as England quietly stroked the noble creature once more. Once it was getting late, England sighed.

"Well, there's work to be done."

_~x~_

England shivered as the rain continued pelting against his soldiers. Normally the rain wouldn't feel quite so cold at this time of the year, considering it was the summertime, but it's been a downpour for days now that, with no pause and no chance of changing clothing, everyone was quickly soaked to the bone.

Seeing the signal given, England gestured for his soldiers to advance. Charging into battle, they began to attack the German soldiers.

They quickly realized; however, that miscalculations were made as Germany made his appearance on the battlefield. While soldiers were fighting as hard as they could only to die like flies, Germany made his way to where he knew England was fighting.

Killing enemies right and left, Germany gradually made his way across the field.

England quickly dispatched the soldier he was fighting and turned around just in time to dodge a blow to the head by Germany. Blocking another blow, England searched for an opening, and quickly took it when Germany was distracted by another of England's soldiers.

Germany grunted as England withdrew his sword from Germany's side. Smirking, England glanced at the blood on Germany's uniform. "First blood," he mocked.

Germany quickly lunged, taking England by surprise and knocking his sword away. "First death," Germany mocked back before running his sword through England's heart. England's eyes widened before glazing over in death as soldiers by the thousands dropped around him.

Standing up, Germany looked down in silent respect at another nation's passing before turning and striding away, all the while muttering under his breath, "I look forward to future dealings with you…England."

As for England, the moment he felt Germany's blade slice through skin and muscles to the heart, he could barely hear anything of what Germany said.

As he died on the ground, he could barely register his soldiers dropping all around him as his vision slowly grew dark and he eventually lost consciousness.

Upon finding himself awake in his mind, England sighed from his position on the floor.

"Well, that was the bloodiest fight in history."

The unicorn snorted in agreement, and laid his head down in England's lap.

"I think this is one that will be written down in history books in years to come," England mused to himself.

He gently stroked the unicorn's mane before settling against the unicorn, using his side as a pillow.

"Well, time to recuperate."

The unicorn just huffed once more in agreement.

When England awoke from his coma, it was to find Matthew studying the stitches above his heart in the medical tent.

"Welcome back, England."

_~x~_

England eyed France across the table.

They were in the middle of a meeting, but decided to take a break for a few minutes. England was currently seated in his chair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping at a cup of tea he made.

France just sat in his seat, too worn to even make a perverted advance.

England tightened his grip on the handle of his cup before his eyes widened. England dropped his teacup in favor of grasping at his chest, clawing at the area of his heart, screeching.

France, startled for a moment, convulsed before jumping up in an attempt to assist England in any way possible.

"W-What is it, Angleterre?" France asked frantically, eyes wild at the thought of attack.

England began coughing up blood and ash. "London…They're attacking London," England gasped before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed into a dead faint.

Panicking, France rushed out of the room, calling for doctors nearby for help. Doctors arrived moments later and began working to keep England stable enough for transportation to the nearby hospital.

Hours later found the doctors arguing about what to do as the wounds reopened each time there was a bomb strike.

Finally, they came upon a consensus to place England under a supervised, medical-induced coma until he was well enough to warrant consciousness.

Looking down at the prone body lying on the hospital bed, France could only pray that help would arrive soon.

While France was worried in the outside world, England found himself floating in the familiar blankness that was his mind. He wasn't alone for long; however, before his frequent companion appeared and began nuzzling against him.

Gently patting the pure mane, England sighed.

"I wonder how long I'll be stuck here this time."

The horse could only neighed in response.

_~x~_

England watched from an alcove as his people celebrated the end of the war. Though the war was now officially over, the battle was only half won. There was still reconstruction to oversee and paperwork concerning future relations with the axis powers to read through but, for this moment, England could feel pride for his people, and all they stood for as they fought and died and refused to give in.

Leaning heavily against a pillar, England closed his eyes, intending on resting for a quick moment, when he heard someone approach.

It was America with a cane in his hand.

"You seem to forget the doctor's orders about using your cane, England."

England hummed in response before sighing. "I'm fine without it, America. I managed to get this far without it."

America frowned but did not say anything, only holding the cane out until England took it from him.

Gazing at his ex-mentor, America's frown deepened before reaching out to grasp his forearm, brushing his other hand along England's ribs.

"You're too skinny, England. I can wrap my whole hand around your arm with my fingers overlapping slightly, and I can feel your ribs protruding. When did you say the rationing would end?"

England shook off America's grasping hands and took a few steps back, feeling awkward under America's concern.

"We have much paperwork and construction to take care of first."

It was an avoidance of the question, as England didn't really give America an answer, but America took the silent statement for what it meant.

'_It'll be many years.'_

There was silence as both nations gazed upon the crowds celebrating in the streets before America decided to break the silence.

"So…the flag with the coat-of-arms...what's with the unicorn, England?"

Said nation glanced over to America through the corner of his eye. It was unusual that the nation who teased England the most about his fantasy creatures wanted to know about them. After all, what America didn't understand was that, even if his magical friends _were_ only his imagination at work, they were the only ones who stood by him since the very beginning.

"You really want to know?"

At America's prodding, England sighed, "Very well."

"Let me tell you a story about a boy and his unicorn."

~Fin

Author's Notes: Okay, some historical points might be slightly off (Like England's original name and the original language, but Brythonic was list as being one of the languages spoken back then), but I think I got most of the scenes in the right order.

Scene sequence in case it's needed:

First scene deals with England under Roman power.

Second scene takes place after the Romans have left, and I think it's pretty much canon that England's brothers hate England at this point in time.

Third scene happens when the Vikings begin invading England and raping and pillaging the people of England.

Fourth scene takes place during the Plague.

Fifth scene is when Mary is Queen of England.

Sixth scene is after the Revolutionary War.

Seventh scene is during the Battle of Somme, said to be the bloodiest battle in history.

Eighth scene is of the London Blitz.

Ninth scene is the end of the Second World War.

Interesting fact: I read that a free unicorn is considered to be a very dangerous beast, which is why the unicorn in the coat-of-arms is depicted as having a chain around the neck. Don't know how much of this is true or not, but if anyone else had any more information on this then I'd be interested to know.


End file.
